Cover art Copyright © 2022 by Jeanie Tomasko.
Richard Swanson was born in Moline, Illinois in 1940 along with an identical twin brother. Early in life, he knew he wanted to be a teacher. He attended Rockford College in Illinois and then graduate school at UW-Madison in Wisconsin. He recalls the tumultuous days of rioting during the Vietnam War, which certainly had an impact on his writing. Following that, he taught English for 33 years at MATC (now Madison College) and his poetry took a turn toward Wisconsin landscapes, joys of child raising, marriage, divorce and everything in between. “There is so much good to write about,” he says, “funny stories, authentic tales of famous people and the everyday happenings of everyday people.” Richard was actively involved in the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets for many years and also a member of the Wisconsin Poet Laureate Commission and the Council for Wisconsin Writers.
Selected poems from The Shoeshiner’s Rag Pops and Sings: Poems New and Old and In Between.
It’s a Block Party
Cement, that is.
All through the country concrete blocks are appearing,
in native pueblos, on little town streets,
one or two now, this Saturday,
and next week, Sunday say, in Paco’s free time,
or Juan, his brother’s, two or three more,
till the one-room casa or business
shows the start of a real foundation,
four or five courses, in the space of a month.
Damn, the money runs out.
Paco is out of work, so the wall sits dormant.
Three months later, the wall has more courses
Soon— —a floor is poured,
Get Your Shoes Done in Oaxaca
Yankee, you have to!
In old colonial Oaxaca, in the zócalo,
walking with dusty, scuffed footware’s a deadly sin,
but there on the plaza’s edges, shoe guys,
the gods of the city’s appearance, stand ready.
From under the esplanade porticos,
the smell of their polish blends in
with steam from your morning coffee.
Just inhale it, that scent of worldly class.
The shoeshiner’s chair: a gawky bent frame,
aluminum meets retro vinyl in a seat contraption
with wheels at the rear. It might be a hot rod,
motored, but the shine men invite you to perch there
at ease on your personal throne
while they lather on personal power.
In the lace-filtered light of lavender jacarandás
feel it: that silky chutzpah on your instep,
thick cream to mask your Achilles heel,
swabs of confidence worked in your seams,
a buffed charisma on your toes.
You’re everyone’s perfect example of presence,
and the shoeshiner’s rag pops and sings,
truly! sings! like the tropical blackbirds above.
Layer it on, more of it, you say to yourself.
Get down, get moving. Strut like a million pesos.
You own the hemisphere. Your shoes are shined!
Surreal
(definition of)
The doctor circles around it, never quite pronouncing the word,
boxing in the news instead with vague projections,
“It’s very idiosyncratic,” this stuff—the doctor’s chummy
reassurance informs me I’m doomed—terminal.
I confront Parkinson’s realities: its tremors, Instantaneous on/off
sleep states, my squinting eyes, loss of my handwriting, clumsy gait.
Then, I stumble onto my best denial mechanism: watching baseball.
Nothing is compelling in this national sport: tiresome innings,
time eking forward with rare hits, dugout closeups of bubble gum
chewing players and the yada yada of announcers.
Diamond trivia gives me staying power. Whole evenings
pass this way with me inert, oblivious to there being
something wrong. No there, there.
What, me worry?
“For over 50 years Richard Swanson has been writing poetry that celebrates the beauty of life, as well as its quirkiness. Actually, especially its quirkiness. His work is carefully crafted and meant to be savored. I'm pleased to be able to look upon Richard as both a mentor and a friend.” —Roy Dorman, Madison writer.
“If growing old isn’t for sissies, then neither, certainly, is Richard Swanson’s new collection—a splendid gathering of new and old poems that specialize in that subject, along with much more. With vigor, insight, and wit, Swanson takes the reader on an exploratory journey on the not-so-distant shores of aging. Equally successful are Swanson’s riffs on Mother Nature and her many amazements.” —Marilyn L, Taylor, Wisconsin Poet Laureate 2009-2010.